


lovebirds in a magpie's nest

by mariafuckingcalavera



Category: RWBY
Genre: Domestic, Domestic Bliss, Domestic Boyfriends, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Fluff, Late at Night, M/M, MagpieWeek, Morning Kisses, Mornings, Movie Night, magpieweek2020
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-13
Updated: 2020-05-13
Packaged: 2021-03-02 21:55:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,313
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24163990
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mariafuckingcalavera/pseuds/mariafuckingcalavera
Summary: They love moments like this more than anything, often wishing things could stay just like this.
Relationships: Qrow Branwen & Roman Torchwick, Qrow Branwen/Roman Torchwick
Comments: 6
Kudos: 16





	lovebirds in a magpie's nest

**Author's Note:**

> first day of magpie week! the prompt was domestic/sparring and since fights take me a long fuckin time i picked the former!! just some roman and qrow domestic shenanigans :DD i hope you enjoy!

"Why are these people so fucking bad at running?" Qrow groans in annoyance to no one in particular, watching the woman on the screen trip on air for what seems to be at least the sixth time. His irritation flares when she doesn't even move to get up, instead opting to scramble away from her assailant on all fours, scrambling backwards at an excruciatingly slow pace that was just begging for her to be killed. Not to mention the terror on her face that's so overdone it physically hurt to watch: cherry coloured lips, opening in a silent scream, eyebrows practically at her hairline in shock, eyes wider than saucepans despite the fact that they were absolutely dull, lacking life, lacking emotion. 

The only thing that kept him from turning off the movie was his boyfriend, whose head rested on his shoulder as the movie blared out from the television before him

"It's a movie, little bird. If the characters knew how to run the movie would only be 5 minutes long." Roman states distractedly in response, his focus on the horrible movie before them. Qrow couldn't fathom how he could still watch that god awful movie, but the words didn't gain enough significance for them to fall from his lips as he sees emerald eyes fixated on the screen, on the screams that pierce through the speakers, on the music that intensifies and escalates. He can feel Roman's unease spike slightly with the music: knowing in the way he shifts slightly underneath his arm, growing closer, his head tilting slightly so his view is obscured. Qrow's hand drifts to stroke Roman's back comfortingly, the back of his fingers running down his back. He can feel the man sigh at the gesture, his fingers tracing incomprehensible patterns into his chest.

This was what they did on the rare nights that weren't spent gallivanting down the streets of Vale, nights that weren't spent on pure adrenaline pumping through their veins, with suitcases of dust in one hand and Melodic Cudgel in another, with Harbringer spinning and twirling in his hands like it weighed nothing. Tonight, the two weren't spending the last remnants of moonlight in an endless chase between man and monster, between glowing red (and blue, in Roman's case) lights and the howls of the night closing in, creeping closer and closer, the tendrils of shrill screams clinging onto the ends of their fingertips. They didn't spend the night with the darkness and dread nipping at their heels, they didn't feel the whistle of bullets and teeth whizz by, life clinging into sweat and breath as they escaped by the skin of their teeth, blending into the night. Tonight, the only place Roman was wanted was in Qrow's arms, and the old bird found his fingers threading themselves lazily in fiery amber, locks washed thoroughly and product free after a day of running around and completing deal after deal, finalising detail after detail. Tonight, they were with each other: a rare sight.

A scoff interrupted his train of thought, and he looked to the screen to see the woman tripping over air, falling to her feet in the most unrealistic, exaggerated way that would have gotten either of them killed on their day to day: arms flailing mindlessly through the air, her legs buckling so deliberately it looked almost intentional. He can hear Roman wince as she turns around, her expression locked into one that was supposed to be terror, but just came off as so badly done it was hilarious: muted, silent screams as the shot zooms into her mouth/ The poor girl's expression was so bad it almost mocked the actual emotion itself. Qrow couldn't help but snicker at the response, and Roman shifted to look up at the man, his expression disapprovingly.

"She's about to die, for god's sake." Roman glowered at him his eyebrows furrowing as Qrow laughs.

"The acting is so fucking bad, apricot, how the fuck are you not laughing?" Qrow chortled, which Roman returned with a stupefied expression.

"Because I have sympathy for the poor girl, Qrow." He huffed, but there was nothing else behind his lighthearted words as he shifted once again underneath Qrow's arm, so he could watch the movie.

"And don't call me that, apricots are horrible." He mumbled underneath his breath, his lower lip sticking out with a pout. Qrow smiled at that, poking his cheek in response, which caused Roman to reply with a halfhearted whine about his skincare routine.

Nights like these were his favourite kind of nights, Qrow had realized a long time ago: not the nights he'd spend in a bar, amber hot against his throat instead of soft, in between his fingers. He loved nights like these, but he was also ready to tear his eyes out because of Roman's insistence to finish any movie he had started no matter how bad he thought it was: god awful documentary about frogs to horror moves so horrendous, the real horror was in the writing room.

He loved his boyfriend, but this movie was so damn cringe-worthy, it deserved a trophy in that category. He had thought about distracting his boyfriend from the movie in multiple ways, both inappropriate and perfect for these kinds of scenarios, but none came to mind. At least, none of which were good ideas, and would lead them back to watching the movie. And he was just about to give up on that idea before he heard the familiar, telltale music that signalled a certain something in each and every horror movie. A mischievous, playful grin made its way to his face as an idea blooms like a flower in his mind. He knows Roman's still watching the movie with anticipation, emerald green eyes fixated on the screen as the protagonist looks around the room. She's veiled in darkness, the music intensifies, and there's the shape of a figure right behind her-

Qrow times it just perfectly, suddenly jostling his arm as his other hand goes to grab Roman's shoulder, causing him to jump from the couch to the floor.

"Fuck!" He swore out loud as he jerks away from the old bird, frightened, his heart racing. Qrow snorts as Roman practically leaps off the couch and onto his feet, emerald green eyes now wide with anticipation and alarm. Qrow grins uncontrollably for seconds before he bursts into uncontrollable laughter.

"Apricot, oh my god..." He wheezes in between bouts of laughter, and Roman scoffs, arms crossed against his torso.

"It's not funny!" He whines with a pout.

"Come on, it was."

"No, it wasn't!" He groans, but soon, he's laughing along with his little bird at the joke, a small chuckle before it progresses to laughter that reverberates around the room, amplified by jokes and teases that lead them to the couch, Roman on top of Qrow as lips laugh even when they're inches from each other, giggles in between featherlight kisses.

This is the kind of night they love, the two think to themselves as one of them cracks another joke and the other loses it, their forehead to the other's chest as the rest of the night is filled with little moments that cause uncontrollable grins.

They find themselves so deep in love, it's sickeningly sweet.

~~~

Mornings are pleasantly quiet in their household, but today an old record plays from the living room, needle scratching vinyl, digging the song from the minuscule crevices of the record before the speakers declare the song to the world of two. Roman hums to a slow song: one of his all-time favourites, one that reminded him of the pleasant memories of first loves and meadows in the countryside as he waltzes through the kitchen, preparing breakfast. The lyrics that he thought were long forgotten, that he assumed had been lost to the trenches of time fall from the tip of his tongue and the edges of his lips as he ends his waltz in front of the stove, swaying to the rhythm. The songs are old, ones that filled the air with the serenity of nostalgia, buzzed through the crisp air and he likes it: no one makes music like this anymore.

"Honestly, I'm not surprised at your music taste." A gravelly voice greets: laden with sleep, and Roman turns away from the omelette he's cooking to see a mop of dishevelled black and greying hair and drooping, rose red eyes, still laced with drowsiness. Roman chuckles amusedly at the sight of the little bird rubbing at his eyes sleepily, a warmth settling in his chest as he pays his attention back to making breakfast. He places Qrow's omelette on a plate nearby, setting it aside as he starts to prepare his own scrambled eggs. He's about to pour the mix in the pan when he feels hands slither around his waist loosely, swaying him to the tune of the music every so slightly as he feels Qrow lean on his back, burying his head into the nook of Roman's neck, inhaling the faintest trace of lavender that lingers.

"You're sleepier than usual." Roman remarks, but his tone is light, airy, tone soft with the ghost of a chuckle ending his sentence. His smile softens when he only gets a sound in response. He finishes the scrambled eggs a few minutes later to see that rose red eyes were hidden behind heavy eyelids as Qrow lightly snored, fast asleep on his feet. He can't help but smile as his heart swells with a comforting, loving warmth at the sight.

"Rise and shine, little bird." Roman hummed, and his voice is undeniable gentle, softened by the smell of lavender and their eggs in the morning and by the presence of him: the man he loved more than anything in the world, the man he'd die and kill for, the man he'd do anything for asleep against his back. He turns around and Qrow lets out a whine in protest, leaving Roman to wonder how someone could fall in love so quickly, so deeply, so desperately in love but not minding it for a single second, all this showing in his lovesick smile. Then Qrow melts into Roman's embrace and he realizes why, hoping he'd get to realize it, again and again, every single day of his life. He smiles, his own hands wrapping around his boyfriend, the two of them in their own little world as Elvis Presley plays in the background.

Roman loved moments like this with Qrow more than anything.

~~~

Callused, slender fingers threaded through smooth hair, steady breathing as serene as the ocean of stars above.

They had fallen asleep to the sound of light rain pattering against the roof, to the cooling night breeze that brushed against their skin, a gentle caress that soothed them into the deep realms of slumber.

Well, it had soothed Roman, at least.

Qrow, on the other hand, found himself slightly more awake as his hands threaded absentmindedly through Roman's hair, the action calming to the both of them as they lay on the comfortable deck chair they had left out on the balcony. The tides of unconsciousness had yet to pull him under their undercurrents, so he lays there, waiting for it to take effect as he admires the night sky now clearer than crystal: silver confetti littering the sky, woven threads of moonlight hitting them just right.

After some time, his head becomes too heavy to look upwards towards the night, so he looks back at his beloved. A smile graces his features: small, but it's still loving, it's still adoring, still devoted to none other than Roman Torchwick. He looks to the man who lay asleep on top of him, a lovesick smile on his face as he looks at the man who fell asleep on top of him: Roman rests his head on Qrow's chest, having drifted asleep what seems like hours ago. He doesn't blame the man: both of them had a long day, and yet they still found themselves enjoying the simple presence of each other despite how tired they were, just wanting the other as they were as they admired the night sky.

It's the dead of the night, the witching hour as Qrow runs slender fingers through Roman's hair once again, having stilled before. He personally finds the motion soothing: repeating itself like the flickering dance of passionate fires, flames licking the darkness, fuelled by sparkling embers and firewood that glow amber momentarily before fading to dust and embers. It reminds him of Roman because he was just like fire: not the raging one that destroys everything you hold dear, not the one that spreads their power viciously to incinerates the forest. No, he thinks of Roman, he thinks of how his presence is comforting, a light in the darkness, a spark of passion in the dull and tiresome days. He looks at Roman and warmth and flowers bloom in his chest, bursting like a bouquet of begonias, each petal an ombre of soft, watermelon pink and sunset oranges, each one tremendous in beauty but unable to even hold a light to the beauty Roman held in his eyes.

He looks at Roman, and he sees the warmth and security a campfire would provide, emerald green eyes set alight, illuminated by the dancing flames. A campfire is a light in the darkness, a beacon in hopelessness, but yet, something everyone remembers to do, never allowing it to slip their mind. Roman's just like that, he thinks to himself fondly as he feels his chest rise up and down slowly, hand and head above Qrow's heart, fingers curling slightly. His smile grows at the gesture, even if it's something so small, so infinitesimal.

Even in his sleep, Roman protects his heart.

Qrow loved moments like this with Roman more than anything.


End file.
